


Dust to Dust

by Moore12



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Movie(s), Protectiveness, Siblings, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-11 14:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4440113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moore12/pseuds/Moore12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's another day, and they're in another town to hunt another witch (or two or ten, it's never just one). Except everything has changed since Trier, and Hansel doesn't know how much longer he'll be able to protect Gretel from the evils of their world. Set years after Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

_Hansel sees it like this: if their lives were made into a fairytale one day, it would be Gretel’s story. He’s just along for the ride._

It’s another day, and they’re in another town to hunt another witch (or two or ten, it’s never just one). Hansel still feels a bit sluggish after his latest injection so he remains in the shadows as Gretel addresses the townspeople. If he believed in God, he’d thank Him for making this mob less unruly than the last one; he doesn’t even have to threaten to blow anybody’s brains out, and he almost always does because he will if anybody so much glances at Gretel the wrong way.

Right after Gretel declares they will kill the witch terrorizing the town, a man barks, “How do we know this bitch isn’t the witch?”

Hansel tenses. If they won’t respect his sister, he’ll make them. In one smooth motion, he thrusts his gun towards the sky and fires. The shot, and the warning it carries, reverberates throughout the crowded square. As soon as every fearful eye is on him, he shifts the gun so it’s trained on the townspeople.

“Alright, you’ve heard enough,” Hansel orders calmly even as he stares them down from over the barrel of the gun with his most predatory look. The mob shifts backward, and he takes a step forward. “And it’s not your decision anyway so go home.”

Lucky for them, the townspeople are smart enough to listen the first time. Hansel stifles a yawn as he watches them disperse, unsettling the dust that coats their old, rundown town. The dust is everywhere; it was the first thing he noticed when he passed through the crumbling stone gate, and he can feel it in boots, his hair, even his teeth. He can already tell he’ll be finding dust in his clothes for weeks after this excursion, and he’s tempted to demand double their usual rate for it.

Hansel is torn from his plotting when he hears the latest mayor who hired them, an older man with the pudgy cheeks he always resents because it’s a sign he has wealth they can only dream of, tell Gretel it hasn’t rained in moons.

“That is why we sought you and your brother’s services,” the mayor says, and Hansel almost snorts at his affected accent. “We believe a witch is behind this drought, and we cannot afford to lose our harvest.”

Hansel bites back his retort that it looks like he can afford to lose a pound (or ten) and lets Gretel continue to take the lead. “And we’ll do everything in our power to make sure that doesn’t happen. Can we discuss your leads over a meal? My brother and I have,” — she pauses and looks to Hansel, and he shakes his head ‘no’ ever so slightly — “we shouldn’t discuss these matters in public.”

“But of course,” the mayor replies, and they turn to go. Hansel follows, trailing a step behind, his gun flung over his shoulder. As he walks, he regards his surroundings suspiciously, all the while keeping an eye on Gretel’s back. He’s learned the hard way—from the sheriff of Augsburg, the clergyman from Berlin, the mob in Trier, among many, many others—witches aren’t the only evil in the world.

When they reach the tavern, the mayor takes them upstairs to a private room. Hansel fights the urge to slump into a chair and throw his aching, blistered feet up on the table; instead, he takes the stool in the corner, moves his gun into his lap and leans back against the wall. For a second, he lets his eyes fall shut, and he can’t help but breathe a shuddering sigh of relief as the warmth and the smell of ale and cooking meats wash over him. He catches a fragment of Gretel and the mayor’s conversation, something about hunters being lured over a cliff, but he’s already starting to drift, his taxed body rebelling against his just-as-weary mind.

“Hansel.” Gretel’s sharp voice brings him back to the present. He blinks open his eyes in time to see her turn to the mayor, her smile tight. “Mayor Adler, I apologize for my brother. It was…we traveled a long way in a short time to get to your town. I promise he won’t need long to recover.”

The mayor nods slowly, clearly unconvinced. Hansel forces himself to sit up straighter when his eyes turn to him. They need this job. It’s been too long since the last one. Just when Gretel looks like she’s about to resort to begging, the mayor turns back to her and says, his voice almost, but not quite, kind, “I will go have Josef prepare you two a meal. Once I return, we will discuss the terms of our deal.”

The moment the door slams shut behind the mayor, Gretel stalks over to Hansel and grabs him by the shoulders. “What the fuck were you doing?” she hisses in his face, her bloodshot eyes filled with unchecked rage. He ducks his head, unable to meet his sister’s gaze. “Now he knows we’re fucking desperate, and I bet we’ll get the old ‘do the job for food and lodging’ deal.”

Hansel doesn’t know what else to say but sorry. “Sorry, Gretel, I…” He trails off when he finds he has no excuse to give and finally just shakes his head.

Gretel doesn’t fill the resulting silence, and Hansel doesn’t break it when she lets go of his shoulders and walks away. After watching her sit down at the table and press the heel of her palm against her temple, he clambers to his feet, ignoring how unsteady his legs are, and joins her. He reaches over and gives her free hand a gentle squeeze. She doesn’t acknowledge it, or him, but that doesn’t matter. She understands. She has to.

Hansel lets go of her hand when he hears the door swings open. The mayor is back, and he actually kept his promise. Hansel can already feel his mouth starting to water, and he almost makes a wild grab at the food; somehow, he manages to wait to dig in until after the tavern girl sets the platter on the table, the mayor sits down across from them and his sister takes a slice of bread and a choice cut of meat.

While they eat (Hansel knows better than to stuff himself, but he can’t help it and goes back for seconds and then thirds), the mayor and Gretel talk about the rumors that the witch’s lair is at the bottom of the cliff. Hansel doesn’t like the sound of that, and he’s about to say that scaling cliffs costs extra when the mayor’s eyes turn cold and he says, “As for the terms of our deal, I will secure lodging at the inn for you during the duration of your time here, and,” — his gaze comes to rest on Hansel, who suddenly feels the need to wipe his mouth with his sleeve — “I will tell Josef to put all your meals on my tab. I assume that will more than suffice for killing one witch.”

Gretel looks like she’s about to argue (or break the mayor’s nose); thankfully, she settles for kneeing Hansel under the table, right in his pincushion of a thigh too. He knows he deserved it so he just bites his lip to keep from yelping (and messing things up more than he already has).

After Gretel collects herself, she replies evenly, “Mayor Adler, from what you’ve told us, I don’t think we’re dealing with a run-of-the-mill witch here. Usually, we make towns pay double for witches like yours. But, because I’m in a good mood and you’ve been so very kind,” — Hansel can’t help but smirk at the biting sarcasm barely concealed in his sister’s tone — “we’ll only require you pay our usual rate, half upfront, half after we kill the fucking bitch.”

The mayor smiles and nods in response. Hansel’s stomach plummets when that smile slowly twists into a smirk. “I do not believe you are in a position to refuse my offer. From what I have heard, the witch hunting business has not been kind since Trier. And, based on your brother’s condition, I suspect the rumors are true.”

They are. Fuck, they are. But Hansel doesn’t say that. Instead, he lurches to his feet and grabs Gretel by the arm. “Come on, sis,” he says gruffly, pointedly not sparing the mayor as much as a glance. “Let’s get outta this shithole.”

“You said it, bro,” Gretel agrees as she loudly pushes her chair back and gets up. Then, clearly on an impulse, she pulls their money bag out of the inner pocket of her coat, retrieves a few coins and hurls them onto the table. Hansel flinches, hoping they’ll still have enough for his medicine if this ploy doesn’t work. “There. Now we don’t owe you a damn thing.”

With that, as one, almost as it was before, they turn for the door. Gretel is the very picture of defiance, and Hansel does his best to match her, holding his head high, doing his best to hide his limp. Right when he starts to push open the door, the mayor calls, the defeat in his voice enough to make Hansel break into a rare grin, “Alright, fine. I will pay your usual rate. But no more.”

“We’ll need all the money up front to make sure you don’t try to cheat us,” Gretel snaps without turning around. The mayor starts to say something, but she quickly cuts him off, her voice as sharp and final as her favorite knife, “And before you even think about arguing, Mayor Adler, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about what happened to the last mayor who crossed us.”

Hansel gingerly shifts his weight to his left leg, hoping the mayor didn’t notice. While he knows they’re in the position of power right now, he wasn’t planning on pushing their luck so far (even half their usual rate would have been enough for him). But he’s not surprised when the mayor sighs heavily and concedes, “Fine, I will agree to those terms.” He pauses for a moment before adding, his voice dangerously calm, “However, if you fail to kill the witch, understand I will send the sheriff and his men after you. And I do not believe your brother is able to run.”

Gretel swivels around and gazes at the mayor levelly. “We will kill your witch. And, if you threaten my brother one more time, I will fucking kill you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As you probably guessed, this is set years after Hansel & Gretel Witch Hunters. I only watched the movie because I found it in the $3.75 bin at Wal-Mart and I really enjoyed Jeremy Renner's Clint Barton. When his Hansel was almost identical to Clint, I fell in love with this movie too. It's so bad, it's good! Oh, for the record, I write Hansel and Gretel as very close siblings. There will be absolutely NO incest in this story (I just wanted to be clear on this point because, in the fandom, incest comes up a fair amount).
> 
> Anyway, this is probably going to be one or three more chapters so please let me know what you think. Getting kudos and comments really motivates me to keep writing, and I truly appreciate them. Until next time. ~Moore12


	2. Part II

_Gretel sees it like this: their stories are so tightly intertwined they can't possibly be separated. They don't have their own stories, only their shared story._

"You shouldn't have done that," Hansel says, his voice only tired, not the slightest frustrated or angry. Gretel watches as he walks over to the desk in the corner, clearly trying to hide his limp for no apparent reason, and then leans against it. "It's not like we're not gonna kill the witch."

"I know that," Gretel replies, placing her hands on her hips, but Hansel's watch starts whirring and clicking before she can continue. For once, he doesn't turn away from her while he takes his injection, and she waits as he pulls a syringe from the pouch on his leg and plunges it into his thigh. His cracked lips scrunch into a grimace, but they change into a weak, lopsided smile so quickly, Gretel almost misses it. Once he's done, he settles back against the desk and looks at her expectantly, though his eyes lack their usual sparkle, so she heaves a sigh and continues, "But it needed to be said. For fuck's sake, Hansel, what else did you want me to do?"

Hansel shakes his head slowly but doesn't say anything. His eyes grow distant, and Gretel can't tell if he's lost in thought or if he's about to doze off on her again. Then, he shakes his head a second time and mumbles, "I dunno, sis, I just dunno. But I can take care of myself, alright? You know that, right?"

Gretel forces a smile. She can only hope he thinks it's genuine; he's always been the one who could hide what he was really thinking and feeling, not her. "Of course I do, but that doesn't mean I can't have your back, does it? Besides, I know you would've done the same for me."

"Yeah, you're right, I would've," Hansel snorts and says, and Gretel can detect a hint of wistfulness in his quiet voice. It almost breaks her heart. "Remember the time I almost shot off the Sheriff of Cassel's balls 'cause he tried to feel you up?"

"You shouldn't have done that," Gretel answers mischievously, using Hansel's own words against him. When Hansel just rolls his eyes, she adds, "I could've fucking lived without being chased by a pack of half-wild dogs out of town."

"Half-wild? Pretty sure they were wild," Hansel says, chuckling roughly. He looks like he's about to say more, and Gretel hopes he does because the only time she gets to see him smile or laugh or look like himself these days is when they talk about their past, but he doesn't; instead, he pushes himself off the desk with a low moan and makes his faltering way over to the wash basin on the other side of the room. Somehow, she resists the urge to help him.

Gretel sits down on the edge of the bed and pretends to leaf through the maps Mayor Adler gave her while Hansel cleans his face and then shrugs off his coat and vest, letting them fall to the floor. His ripped, stained undershirt hangs off of him loosely; once, a long time ago, he used to complain incessantly it was too tight in his shoulders. After watching him kick off his boots and limp over to the window to draw the blinds, Gretel asks carefully, "You're not going to sleep already, are you? I thought you'd want to go to the tavern with me so we can take full advantage of our unlimited free meals and drinks."

"'M sorry, sis," Hansel says as he drops to the ground beside the bed and sprawls out. This time, he grabs one of her discarded boots to use as his pillow. "'M just tired."

"That's fine," Gretel replies gently before reaching down on an impulse to ruffle his hair. He cracks open one eye and gives her a look that says "really?" and she laughs before ruffling his hair again, which only makes him groan in protest. "Good night, baby brother. See you bright and early in the morning."

"Hate mornin's," Hansel mutters blearily, letting his eye slip shut again. "We oughta burn 'em."

Forcing a laugh, Gretel gets to her feet, tiptoes around him and makes her way to the desk so she can study the maps without disturbing him. She doesn't mention he used to be the early riser of the two of them; whenever they stayed the night in a town, she'd wake up the next morning to find he had already gone to the market to replenish their supplies. Without fail, he always bought her a treat—an apple, a buchteln filled with jam, a chunk of chocolate. At first, Gretel teased him mercilessly about it, once even accusing him of trying to fatten her up like that old crone who started them on their path. Eventually, after she realized how happy it made him, she began to simply accept his gifts graciously. And that was just one of the many things Trier took from them.

Gretel shudders as the memories she's been trying so hard to suppress start flooding her mind at the mere thought of Trier. She glances over her shoulder to reassure herself that Hansel's still there and can't help but smile sadly after looking him over. That's when she resolves to go to the market before he wakes up and get him a new shirt (or two, he'd lost or ruined all but the one he's wearing long ago) and something special. Since anything sweet is out of the question, she decides she'll try to find him Maultaschen. It's one of his favorite foods, and they haven't had it since Berlin (actually, they haven't had much of anything to eat besides what they could hunt or trap, but that's beside the point).

When Gretel tires of looking over the maps, she decides to follow her brother's lead and turn in early for the night. She hadn't lied to Mayor Adler when she told him they had traveled a long way in a short time to reach his town, and she also knows she should sleep when she gets the chance. She doesn't bother to wash more than her face or even attempt to shake the dust from her clothes; the dust followed them inside anyway, and it coats the floor and every piece of furniture. Once she's settled in bed, she leans over and brushes her hand against Hansel's shoulder. He stirs, rolling into her touch, but doesn't wake, not even after she whispers, "Sleep well, Hansel."

Gretel closes her eyes and allows the darkness of sleep to claim her. And then the ugly yelling starts—people are screaming for someone to be burned—and her eyes snap open. She's back in that cursed square, being manhandled towards the stake, and she tries to scream herself but can't because she's been gagged. She can't accept she's going to die, not like this, not after she and Hansel dedicated their lives to saving the asses of pathetic fucking townspeople like this. She wishes she knew where her brother is, hopes (and will even pray if it will help him) he's safe, but she suddenly sees him out of the corner of her eye, lying in a heap a few feet from the stake, a pool of blood slowly building around him. She digs her feet into the ground, but the men are too strong for her, and she tries to scream again when, impossibly, Hansel lurches to his feet, pulling a pistol from his coat and firing a bullet directly through the sheriff's eye socket in one fluid motion. In seconds, everything descends into chaos, which Gretel plans on taking advantage of, but then there's a knife pressed firmly against her throat, close enough to send a dribble of blood trickling lazily down her neck, and…

Gretel's eyes bolt open, and it takes a second for her to realize she's not in Trier (and now she couldn't be happier to be in this dusty shithole). Without thinking, she leans over, grabs Hansel by the shoulder and shakes him. She immediately regrets it when he lets out an ugly moan and his eyelids flutter open, revealing bloodshot, unfocused eyes. "Gretel?" he murmurs. "You okay?"

Even though Gretel wants to tell Hansel to go back to sleep, she does owe him an explanation for waking him. And she does want to talk. "I had this dream…about Trier. I was back in the square, and you were…"

She's not surprised when Hansel cuts her off, his voice slurred but still final. "We don't talk about that." He's said that so many damn times about so many damn things—their parents, her being a witch, his relationship with Mina, Ben's death, Edward's capture, Trier. As the years have passed, Gretel has started to believe he does it more to protect himself than to protect her, and she wants to howl in frustration because, damn it, they need to talk about Trier. They also need to talk about the limp he can now barely hide, but that's a conversation for another time.

After a brief moment of silence, Hansel surprises her. Instead of telling her to go back to sleep like he always does, he grabs her hand, giving it a tight, almost defiant squeeze, and drawls, "If you keep lettin' it control your life, they win, sis. Don't let 'em fuckin' win."

Gretel doesn't know what to say to that so she doesn't say anything. On some level, she knows her brother is right, but she doesn't want to admit because, the way she sees it, on another, far more important level, level, he's wrong. What happened in Trier altered the course of their lives forever, just like what happened in that fucking gingerbread house straight out of hell did. Before she knows what's she's doing, she blurts out, "Hansel, they already won. The fucking bastards, they took…"

"Hey…" Hansel breaks in gently, and his grip on her hand tightens. When he continues, his voice is less than a whisper but still firm and so very certain. "They didn't take everything, sis. You know that. We still got each other."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I wasn't planning on writing from Gretel's POV when I started this story, but I decided to give it a shot and really enjoyed it. I think this story becomes more powerful when you get to see what Gretel thinks of her baby brother (yes, I decided to play Hansel as the younger of the twins just because I think that makes it a more interesting dynamic). As a quick reminder, I write Hansel and Gretel as very close siblings. There will be absolutely NO incest in this story (I just wanted to be clear on this point because, in the fandom, incest comes up a fair amount).
> 
> This story hasn't been doing as well as I would have liked, but I'm assuming it's because I'm a little (or a lot) late to the party. If you like it, I would truly appreciate you giving it kudos or a comment. I truly appreciate both. Until next time. ~Moore12


	3. Part III

_They both see it like this: if one is lost, their story ends. They’ve unknowingly reached the same conclusion._

Today’s gonna be better than yesterday. Every single day since Trier, Hansel has told himself that upon waking. Today’s gonna be better than yesterday—at once, it’s the fragile hope that keeps him going, the promise he makes to himself even though he knows he can’t keep it, the twisted lie his life has become. He silently repeats those words over and over and over as he trudges through the swirling dust towards the latest witch who’s just begging to be burned.

But, honestly, today’s already better than yesterday (and almost every day that came before it too). Part of him knows Gretel shouldn’t have wasted the money, but she really did manage to surprise him. The Maultaschen was so good, and he’s irrationally thrilled he won’t have to worry about salvaging his undershirt after this hunt. Hansel feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he lets it break free because, well, today’s already better than yesterday. And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be even better, and things will go back to the way they were...

Hansel is ripped from his thoughts by an inhuman scream. Beside him, Gretel tenses, clearly itching for a fight, but he just feels numb. The hunt lost its thrill many, many years ago. Even though he can’t see more than a few feet in any direction because of the damn dust, he knows the witch is nearby. After shifting his gun off his shoulder and pointing its barrel out in front of him, he takes a hesitant step forward. When Gretel moves to do the same, he pushes her back with his elbow. Something doesn’t feel right about this, and Hansel’s about to tell his sister just that when there’s a second scream, this one even more chilling than the last because it’s right behind them.

Hansel’s instincts take over from there. He’s not as fast or as strong as he once was, but he’s smarter. Or, well, experience has taught him to think before he acts, and he applies that hard-learned lesson here, wheeling around immediately but not firing a shot until he sees something moving to his left. The shot is muffled by the relentless wind, but the howl of pain that follows reverberates for miles.

It can’t just end there, of course. That would be too easy. But, luckily for them, the wind starts to die down, steadily settling the dust back to the ground. Gretel spots the witch before he does and bolts after her with the reckless abandon that used to be his (not her) defining trait. He runs after her, gritting his teeth against the pain that pulses down his right leg every time his foot hammers the ground. Before he can catch up to his sister, she catches up to the witch; spurred on by panic, he breaks into a sprint when the witch abruptly turns and launches herself at Gretel, knocking her crossbow away with frightening ease.

No, it can never be easy. Because that would be too damn easy. Hansel can’t risk taking a shot, not with Gretel wrestling with the witch on the ground, both their hands clasped around a wand as sharp as any blade. He reacts without thinking (yes, he’s smarter than he once was, but he still can’t help putting himself between any threat and his sister) and tackles the witch, somehow managing to come up with her wand in mere seconds.

And, with that, Hansel plunges the wand through the witch’s neck. She screeches, but he knows how to shut her up and finishes her off in one well-practiced motion

Almost immediately, the adrenaline coursing through him, which had driven him well past his limits, drains away, and he realize his chest is heaving, his vision has blurred around the edges, his hands are trembling. Despite all that, after sucking in a deep breath, he quips at Gretel, who had apparently rushed to his side, “That was too fucking easy.”            

Gretel offers him a hand up, and he takes it, both grateful and reluctant at once. As she pulls him to his feet, he chuckles to mask the groan he can feel building in the back of his throat and asks, “Say, can we leave the head on the mayor’s doorstep? That’ll teach ‘im not to fuck with…”

“Hansel,” Gretel interrupts, her voice so gentle, it puts Hansel on edge. He hates it when she uses that tone with him; he’s not the one who needs protected, after all. “Hansel, is your,” — she hesitates, and he takes that as an opportunity to pull away from her and casually brush some of the dust from his coat, his way of saying, “see, I’m okay” — “How’s your…leg holding up?”

Not good. Fuck, it hurts. But Hansel quirks his lips into what’s probably a grim parody of his once carefree grin and replies, “It’s good. My leg’s,” — a jolt of pain cuts him off; in response, he bites the inside of his lip hard enough to draw blood and shifts as much of his weight as he can to his left leg, which, of fucking course, draws an arched eyebrow from Gretel — “Aw, fuck, sis, it hurts, but I’m okay, alright?”

What’s left unsaid is he’s okay because it always hurts and he’s starting to learn to live with it (and he knows he will, one day, because he learned to live with his damn sugar sickness). He suspects Gretel already knows this, and he’s relieved when she just says, “Come on, baby brother, let’s get back to town. I need a fucking drink.”

Hansel barks a laugh. “I need ten. And I’m gonna get ‘em ‘cause the mayor’s paying.”

Yeah, today’s definitely better than yesterday.

* * *

After only taking two rather half-hearted swigs, Hansel pushes his stein to the side, and Gretel can’t help but frown. Of course, he notices; his eyes darken for a split second, but then he offers her a cheeky grin and asks, “How ‘bout the mayor’s face when we dumped the head on his desk? Fuck, he looked like he was gonna piss himself.”

“I think he actually did,” Gretel chirps, earning her a rough chuckle that does nothing to assuage her concern. Something is wrong. But, when she continues, she acts like nothing is wrong, well aware her brother will retreat even further behind his sturdy(but slowly crumbling) walls if she lets on again she knows it. “You know what? We should do that again on our next hunt.”

“Yeah…” Hansel tries for levity but fails, his voice falling off before he can complete a single word. The look on his face—mingled frustration, exhaustion, self-loathing and regret—is one Gretel’s seen only once before, two and a half days after they escaped Trier, as he begged her to leave him on the side of the road when his legs finally couldn’t carry him anymore. “Gretel,” he had whispered, clasping her face in his trembling hands, “‘M gonna slow you down. Go. Please.”

Gretel didn’t listen (sometimes, late at night when she hears him mumbling in his sleep the same thing, she wonders if he’ll ever forgive her for it). Looking at him now, his dull eyes trained on the table, his face drawn in a grimace, she remembers she may have saved his life, but she still lost him that horrible day on the side of the road from Trier to Luxembourg. “Hansel…” she reaches out and grabs one of his hands on an impulse, but he still doesn’t meet her gaze. “What’s wrong? Please…please tell me.”

Hansel only pulls his hand out of her grasp, his eyes never leaving the table. Gretel waits for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t; instead, he pushes his chair out and shakily stands up, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Hansel,” Gretel tries again, doing her best to hide her concern, her panic, but failing, “Hansel, seriously, what’s the matter?”

“Jus’ want some air,” Hansel mutters under his breath seconds before his watch starts whirring and clicking. His mind is clearly elsewhere as he pulls a syringe from his pouch and plunges it into his thigh. When he’s done, he blinks a few times to clear the fog that’s settled in his eyes and then turns away from her. She’s about to get up when he says, his voice low and hash, a tone he only uses when he means something to be an order, “Need to be alone.”

Gretel doesn’t follow him. Not at first, at least. She waits until she’s finished her ale, and drank over half of his, before she hauls herself to her feet and traces the path her brother took, ignoring the wolfish stares of the men at the bar because she’s better-armed than they are anyway. She assumed he returned to the inn so she’s surprised to find him sitting on a discarded barrel on the outskirts of the market, his chin resting against his chest and his eyes closed.

A girl who can’t be more than seven years old approaches Hansel before she can, and Gretel holds her breath as she tugs on his sleeve and he starts, his hand tightening around his gun. But, the moment he opens his eyes and sees the girl, his expression softens. The girl says something Gretel can’t quite make out, and her brother breaks into an uncharacteristically warm smile and replies, “Aw, it’s nothing. Jus’ doing my job.”

Gretel can’t help but smile herself when the girl produces a tiny, white wildflower from the pocket of her coat. When she holds it out to Hansel, his eyes widen in surprise, and he takes it carefully by the stem, as if afraid he’ll accidentally crush it. “Thank you,” he finally says, his voice catching slightly. “I really…”

“Fern Ada, get back here now!”

Since Trier, Gretel has come to believe fear is the most powerful emotion, able to overpower love and compassion, harness anger and aggression, channel disgust and hatred. At some level, fear is behind every act of violence, justified or not. She’s not immune to fear, and neither is her brother. But their fear is rational, unable to be preyed upon by rumors whispered in church pews, over ales, during marketplace negotiations because they’ve experienced the purest of evils.

Part of her wants to intervene, but Gretel knows better than to try to fight Hansel’s battles for him. So she watches mutely from the shadows as a man, who must be the girl’s father, grabs her roughly by the hand and yanks her away from Hansel. “You shouldn’t be talkin’ to the likes of ‘im, Fern” he spits, stepping between his daughter and Hansel even though his eyes betray he’s very, very afraid of him, “let alone be thankin’ ‘im.”

In the past, Hansel would have snorted and retorted something along the lines of “the likes of me keep kids like her safe. So, yeah, she oughta thank me.” But now he only mumbles, staring down at the flower he’s holding between two fingers, “You’re right.” He pauses before addressing the girl, who’s peeking out from behind her father’s leg with wide eyes, “You oughta, uh, know better, but thank you, thanks again. I’m gonna…”

The man drags the girl away before Hansel can finish his thought, and he visibly deflates as he watches them go. Gretel doesn’t wait long to walk over to him, grab him by the shoulder and tell him they should go back to the inn because it’s getting late. In response, he smiles tightly and gets to his feet. As they walk to the inn, Gretel complains about the dust, mostly to keep from commenting on what she just witnessed without him knowing or on the flower, which Hansel has tucked behind his left ear.

As soon as they’re back in their room, Hansel limps over to the desk and sags against it. Gretel leans against the wall on the other side of the room, folding her arms across her chest expectantly when he finally notices she’s watching him. After taking a shuddering sigh, he hangs his head and admits something Gretel never thought he would: “I don’t think I can do this anymore, sis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I have to admit, I've really, really enjoyed writing this story. I kind of think it's a little more realistic than the movie haha. I just wish it would get some more love than it has (though I know I'm late to the party). As a reminder, I write Hansel and Gretel as very close siblings. There will be absolutely NO incest in this story (I just wanted to be clear on this point because, in the fandom, incest comes up a fair amount).
> 
> If you're reading this, I would LOVE to hear from you. I love getting kudso, and comments, and this story hasn't been doing very well even though I think it's one of the better ones I've written. Until next time. ~Moore12


	4. Part IV

Just because part of Gretel always knew it was coming doesn't mean she's not blindsided by her brother's admission. She stares at him for a long, painful moment, struck mute because she can't find the right words to convince him that it's okay. They don't have to do this anymore—they don't owe anybody anything, they can open a tavern or buy a plot of land and farm, they deserve much, much more than this (and they always have). She wants to tell him all of this but doesn't get the chance.

Instead, she's forced to watch helplessly as Hansel shatters; somehow, he still manages to hold back the tears brimming in his normally dull eyes, causing them to shine in a way they haven't in so long. "I, uh, I'm sorry. Don't know what just, uh, got into me. Just tired or somethin' and I'll be alright in…"

"Hansel," Gretel breaks in, her voice far sharper than she intended so she makes a concentrated effort to soften it when she continues, "We don't have to keep doing this, not if you don't want to. And, since you're being honest with me,—" Gretel hesitates, struck by the horrible realization he must be in so much more pain than she even suspected to have admitted this "—I'm going to be honest with you. I've wanted out since Trier, and I…"

Hansel rarely raises his voice with her. Gretel can't remember the last time he did, but it was probably years ago, back when they were still cocky teenagers who naively thought it was better to be feared than respected. They had a few particularly vicious fights then, over how they'd spend their money, how much he drank, how she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself (and everything and anything in between). Eventually, after too many close calls to count, they stopped, neither willing to lose the other over a petty argument, neither willing to hurt the other more than they already had been.

But he does now. "Why didn't you tell me?" he barks through gritted teeth, each word a pointed accusation in itself. She feels the anger, the frustration, rolling off of him in violent waves, and it terrifies her even though she knows he'd never do anything to hurt her. When she doesn't reply, he sighs heavily and slumps further against the desk. Then, he asks again, his voice impossibly small this time, "Gretel, why?"

"You know how you always try to protect me?" Gretel begins with a question of her own, and she waits until he nods ever so slightly before continuing, "I was trying to protect you. Let's face it: we don't talk about Trier because you don't want to talk about Trier. And, after Trier, as soon as you were able to walk, you wanted to get back to hunting. You wanted to act like nothing had happened, nothing had changed, so I let you."

Hansel huffs an airy, bitter laugh. Then, he pulls the flower out from behind his ear and stares down at it intently, his eyes still shimmering with the tears he hasn't let fall. "Yeah? So it's my fault then?"

"I didn't say that," Gretel snaps, irrationally frustrated that, of everything he could have taken away from her confession, he came to that conclusion. She's aware, on some level, she shouldn't be surprised; she told him the truth, and she should have known the consequences of doing so.

"Yeah, you kind of did," Hansel mutters as he idly spins the flower between two fingers. "You wanna know why I don't talk about Trier? All these years, I thought we were doing something good. We were helping people. And then…they treated us like the monsters we've been saving them from. It used to…before it didn't bother me what people said 'bout us. But…"

"We're not what they thought we were," Gretel says gently, covering the distance between them in seconds and lifting his chin so he's forced to look her in the eyes. "You know that, right?"

"Sometimes, I'm not so sure," Hansel whispers, blinking furiously to fight back the tears that are starting to spill over. A few manage to, but he brushes them away before they have the chance to trickle down his face. "Sometimes, I wish you jus' did what I tol' you to an'…" He pauses to try to choke back a sob, but he can't. And, with that, the rest of the tears burst past his defenses, and Gretel is rendered speechless. She has never seen her brother cry, and she never wants to again.

Not knowing what else to do, Gretel draws Hansel into a tight hug and lets him bury his face against her shoulder. As his violent sobbing racks his body, she reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair, ignoring the dust she unsettles. When he finally stills in her arms, she doesn't know how much time has passed, and she still doesn't know what to say. She doubts anything she says will make a difference, but she has to try. "Hansel, you're my baby brother. I just, I-I couldn't leave you there, and you know you wouldn't have either if our situations were reversed. And…you told me just last night, 'If you keep letting it control your life, they win.' You know they were wrong about us. You know that. I know you do."

Hansel only sniffles softly in response, and she pulls him closer, wishing she could do something to alleviate his pain even though she knows he won't let her. As soon as he repairs his crumbled walls (and he will, of that she's certain), this will become yet another thing they don't talk about.

So they have to talk about it now. Just when Gretel's about to suggest they leave town tomorrow for Mannheim, where they can open the tavern she knows he's always wanted to, somebody starts pounding on the door to their room. They both tense, but neither moves until Mayor Adler shouts, his voice filled with murderous rage, "Open up, witch hunters! A child has been taken!"

* * *

"You can't expect us to go out there this close to nightfall," Gretel snarls, practically baring her teeth at the mayor like a cornered animal. Hansel can hear the fear in her voice, and he hopes the mayor didn't hear it too.

Apparently, he did. As a cruel smile tugs at the corners of his lips, the mayor gestures to the sheriff and his men, and they quickly form a ragged circle around the witch hunters. In another time, and another place, Hansel wouldn't have been afraid of them. Now, he can barely keep his hands from shaking, and he curses himself silently for being so damn weak. After stepping just inside of the circle, the mayor replies, his tone as threatening as his cronies, if not more, "That is exactly what I expect."

"And it will accomplish nothing," Gretel says through gritted teeth, and she presses closer to Hansel when the mayor's cronies begin to tighten their circle. He wants to find her hand, give it a squeeze to tell her somehow, someway, this will all work out, but he's frozen in place. "Let me ask you something: if we go out there tonight, who will k-…"

Whir…click…click…click.

Gretel's voice falls off at the sound of his watch. Hansel wants to wait, but he's already starting to feel lightheaded, and his watch keeps whirring and clicking, unaware (or not caring) that he has an audience. And every last person is watching him now; he can't help but mutter the vilest curse he knows under his breath as he pulls a syringe from his pouch and plunges it into his thigh in one fluid motion even though his hands have begun to shake. Once he's done, he straightens and then takes a single step towards the mayor. Lifting his chin and forcing himself to hold the man's cold gaze, he says curtly, "What my sister was gonna say is this: if we die, who's gonna kill your fuckin' witch? 'Cause I dunno if any of these guys are up for it. I mean, if they were, why the fuck would you've hired us?"

For a moment, as the mayor stares at him blankly, Hansel is convinced they won. Just when he's about to assert they'll go first thing in the morning, and, of course, they'll do everything in their power to bring the child back alive, the mayor recovers and his smile becomes even more deadly than before. He turns to one of his cronies and says, "Bring in the girl's mother and father."

Hansel nearly drops to his knees when the girl's father walks in. Almost of its own accord, one of his hands reaches up and brushes against the flower he had tucked behind his ear right before the mayor and his cronies practically kicked their door down. He hardly notices the girl's mother is sobbing because he can only hear what her father said to him earlier that day: "You shouldn't be talkin' to the likes of 'im." And, now, he wheels on Hansel and howls, "This is all yer fault! My little Fern…the witch took 'er! What did you do to 'er?"

I'm sorry, Gretel, Hansel thinks as he's reduced to fighting back the tears he thought he had cried out earlier. But, somehow, by some miracle, his voice doesn't quiver when he turns to the mayor and says, more in response to the girl's father than to him, "Get me a horse. I'll ride out now."

"Hansel, what the fuck are you doing?" Gretel demands, and suddenly it's as if they're the only ones in the room. Her eyes are wild with all of the emotions she's been trying to hide since Trier, and he wants to wrap her in a hug and never let go, like she did for him earlier. But he can't. And he knows he may never again. "The sun's going down right now. We're not going."

Hansel gives her a smile. It's the very least he can do for her. "You're right, sis, we're not. But I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As you can probably tell, we're coming to the end of this story. I'm on the fence about how to end it, but I have a few ideas. I've really enjoyed writing this, but I'm a little sad that it hasn't gotten much love (thanks to everyone who gave me kuos and comments!). So, if you like it, let me know! I love hearing from you! Until next time. ~Moore12


	5. Part V

The horse spooks just as the sun starts to set, rearing up on its hind legs, pawing at the sky as if it holds everything it fears, not just swirling dust. It will, soon enough, so Hansel can’t fault it, especially not when he can actually hear his own heart hammering. Tightening his hold on the reins, he manages to coax the horse into putting all four of its hoofs on the ground. Then, he gets it to stand still, but only long enough for him to dismount; the moment he’s off of its back, it rears again, as if daring him to try to stop it, before charging back in the direction they came.

Hansel doesn’t watch it go. After setting his jaw and taking a deep breath through his nose, he flings his gun over his shoulder and continues to forge ahead, ignoring how quickly the sun is falling, how the moon is shining brighter and brighter until, just like that, it’s the only light he has to guide him. The dust hanging in the air tints the moon a reddish orange, and he can’t help but shudder, remembering the night when he almost lost his sister to a crazed coven that wanted to rip her heart from her chest and use it to live forever. His eyes are burning, but he blames it on the dust and keeps moving, reminding himself she’s safe with every step he takes. She’s not out here with him. She’s back at the inn. She’ll be able to handle the mayor and his cronies if they turn on her. Not that they will—they know they need her. They know, just like he does, he won’t finish the job.

Hansel tells herself Gretel will be able to. She’s stronger than him, always has been, always will be, and she’ll be fine without him. Maybe, without having him to worry about, she’ll be able to reinvent herself. Maybe she’ll buy a plot of land. Maybe she’ll open an inn. Hell, maybe she’ll get married and start a new family. Whatever she does, he hopes (and will even pray, if it will help) she’s happy. After everything she’s been through, she deserves happiness, and he’s ready to lay down his life right here and now to make sure she has a chance at it (however slim it may be). He doesn’t let himself consider Gretel might need him to be happy. The way he sees it, since Trier, he’s been nothing but a burden.

And he was supposed to protect her. When their father left them in the woods, he didn’t say, “Protect each other.” No, he looked him right in the eyes and said, “Protect your sister.” Those words gave him his purpose—even though he’s younger by just over a year, even though his life depends on injections, even though magic courses through her veins, not his, from that moment on, his life became about defending hers and nothing more. If Gretel knows he feels this way, she’s never let on. Not even after Trier.

It was Hansel’s fault. If he hadn’t snuck off with the tavern girl, he would have been there for her. The sheriff’s son wouldn’t have tried to have his way with her. She wouldn’t have smashed in his nose with her stein. He wouldn’t have rounded up his friends and chased her to the edge of town. She wouldn’t have resorted to using a spell to fight them off. If Hansel had been there, her secret would still be safe, and they would have left that damn city in the morning for the next town and the next witch (or two or ten, because it can never be just one).

But he wasn’t there. And that, not his bleeding, broken leg, was the reason he wanted her to leave him on the side of the road between Trier and Luxembourg. She shouldn’t have to protect him, especially not when he had failed her. Since then, that’s all she’s done, and he’ll make sure that ends now because he can’t live with…

Hansel’s torn from his bitter reflections by a sharp yelp of pain, and his heart plummets. He’s too late, just like he was in Trier; when he returned to the tavern, Gretel was long gone, and he was ambushed before he had a chance to process what could have happened to her. Even though he knows better, and his leg protests every step, he breaks into a run when the cry is followed by a scream. Damn it, he won’t be late again. He can’t be.

For the first time in too long, luck is on his side. Hansel arrives seconds before the witch, a particularly hideous creature with curved horns growing out of her head and eyes the color of blood, thrusts Fern onto a strange altar made of crumbling stone. “Hey!” he shouts, for lack of anything better to say, and she wheels on him and fires a spell. He smiles wanly when it passes right through him, as usual. “Let the girl go, and I’ll consider not killing you.”

The witch laughs, and Hansel bristles even though he’s well aware he’s not as intimidating as he once was. “Where’s your sister, dearie?” she mocks in a cloying voice that reminds him of the candy the first witch force fed him. “My invitation was meant for both of you.”

“Ya don’t say,” Hansel quips in response as he edges a few steps closer to her. “Well, you’ll have to settle for jus’ me. ‘S nothin’ personal so don’t feel too…”

Magic may not work on him, but a dagger propelled by magic into his gut will do the trick. His knees buckle, his gun clatters to the ground, and he lets out a strangled cry that’s quickly echoed by Fern and then drowned out by the witch’s laughter. The world sways dangerously, but he slowly struggles to his feet. Not like this. He won’t go like this. He has to save Fern. He can’t fail her too. Fuck, why didn’t he see the dagger coming? Why didn’t he shoot the witch when he had the chance? Why wasn’t he there?

Why?

Gretel, I’m sorry, he mouths, already too weak to ground out the words. He grits his teeth against the pain, thrusts a trembling hand against his wound and manages a step forward. And then another. And another. The dust has kicked up again, and he can barely see through it and the gray fog that’s gathered at the corners of his vision. It doesn’t matter. He still has a chance. He can tell the witch hasn’t noticed his approach; no, she’s clearly written him off for dead, and Fern is keeping her hands full by putting up quite the fight—kicking, scratching, thrashing, not willing to go calmly into the waiting arms of death. She reminds him of Gretel, and his sluggish heart catches in his throat. “Stay still, darling,” the witch growls as she draws back her wand. “It won’t hurt if you don’t strug…”

Drawing on the last of his strength, Hansel pulls the knife from his gut and plunges it through the witch’s neck. As soon as he severs her head, he collapses to the ground and curls in on himself, biting his lip hard enough to flood his mouth with blood to keep from screaming. Gretel, I’m so sorry, he thinks as he lets his eyes slip shut, welcoming the darkness like an old, trusted friend.

* * *

The horse returns alone. Its eyes are wild, its coat glistening with sweat, and it takes the sheriff and all four of his men to subdue it. The moment they do, Gretel juts out her chin, strides over to them and grabs its reins. “Are you fucking happy now?” she snaps, her voice almost as sharp as the pang of grief she felt when she first heard the horse’s hoofs clattering on the cobblestones. After the men look down at their feet in unison, she adds, “You better pray he’s alive. Because, if he isn’t, you won’t just answer to God.”

With that, Gretel climbs into the saddle and urges the horse forward with a snap of the reins. She doesn’t spare a glance over her shoulder at the sheriff and his men, even though she feels their eyes on her back. They’re the least of her concerns now (but, yes, she’ll be true to her word, and they should be more afraid of her than Gold himself). Once she’s passed under the crumbling stone gate, she digs her heels into the horse’s sides to spur it into a gallop.

Gretel tries to focus on the task at hand—finding her brother (not saving him, she can’t let herself think he needs saved)—and not dwell on what happened to bring them to this. But she can’t help it. At some level, as much as she never wanted to acknowledge it, let alone accept it, she always knew it would come to this. The longer she rides through the darkness and dust, guided only by the orange-hued moon, the more the flood of memories starts to overwhelm her. As she sees him curl up without complaint on the cold, hard ground beside her bed, watches as he lets her have the last precious drops of water from their canteen, catches a glimpse of him changing his blood- and sweat- stained bandages by firelight when he thought she was asleep, she curses herself for failing to make him understand he was important too. She tried; fuck, she tried, but nothing she said, not the gentle reminders, the teasing rebukes, the shouted reprimands, made any difference. In her mind, they were equals, far stronger together than apart, reliant on one another to survive in their cruel world. In his mind, she led and he followed, shouldering her burdens on top of his own way. After Trier, their burdens grew too heavy for him to carry on his own, but he became even more defiant in his insistence he bear each and every one. She knew he would collapse under their weight, but she hadn’t tried hard enough to stop him and…

Without warning, the horse skids to a halt, nearly pitching Gretel over its head. When it seems to realize she’s still in the saddle, it begins to buck, and it’s all she can do to keep it from bolting out from under her. “No you don’t, you fucking coward,” she growls, pulling on the reins so hard, it whinnies in protest. “I’m going to find my brother, and you’re going to help whether…”

“Help! Please!”

It’s a girl’s voice, high-pitched, filled with fear and oddly familiar. Gretel pulls up on the reins, forcing the horse to stand still as she waits for the voice to cut through the silence again. It could be a trap; she knows that all too well but doesn’t care.

“Please! Help us!”

Fuck it, if it ends up being a trap, Gretel will let herself be hopelessly ensnared. For once, she’s going to put Hansel first. She spots a short tree, bent by the relentless wind, on the horizon and directs the horse towards it. She dismounts only after she’s tied its reins to a solid, low-hanging branch. The horse surprises her by not struggling, even though it could easily break free if it did, and she sighs softly in relief. If Hansel is injured (not dead, she can’t let herself think he’s gone), she’ll need it to carry him back to town.

“Is somebody there? Please! Please help us!”

Gretel follows the voice until she finds them. The girl—Fern, she remembers right when she throws her arms around her right leg and begs her to save him—is alive. Hansel had kept his promise to her parents, but he had paid dearly to do so. As tears begin to cloud her vision, Gretel disentangles herself from Fern’s grasp, sparing her a pat on the shoulder and a whispered “it’ll be alright” even though it won’t be, and then drops to her knees at her brother’s side.

She wants to bury his face against his shoulder and cry. She’s too late, and he died alone and afraid (she hopes his death was quick and painless, but fate has never been kind to them in life so why would it be in death?). He’s folded in on himself, his face turned away from her, and she gently maneuvers him onto his back and pulls his head into her lap. Choking back a sob—if he’s watching, wherever he is, she doesn’t want him to see her cry, not when he was always so strong for her, not when she suspects doing so would break him further even in death—she leans down to plant a kiss on his forehead.

And that’s when she feels it: a faint puff of air on her cheek. Gretel starts but recovers quickly, resting a hand on her brother’s chest. She waits and waits and, just when she’s starting to think she had imagined it, his chest rises.

Before, she had ignored the blood, running hot and sticky down his right side, staining the dust around him a deep, dark shade of red. Now, she scrambles to find its source. It doesn’t take long, and she can’t help but gasp audibly. They’ve each had more than their fair share of injuries, and this one is worse than all of them, even the one that nearly took his leg, and then his life, in that tiny cavern between Trier and Luxembourg. The wound is too deep, and all she can do is press her hand against it and try to get him in town before he…

“‘S bad, huh?”

There’s blood in Hansel’s smile. She watches, struck mute, as he manages to lift one hand and rest it on hers. After she takes it and gives it a squeeze, ignoring the blood trickling sluggishly through her fingers, she whispers, “You look like shit, you know that?”

Hansel chuckles feebly. Gretel forces herself to hold his gaze even though her heart aches at the relief she sees in his glazed eyes. “Yeah? ‘S not been my best da-…” An ugly, wet cough erupts from his lips, sending a trickle of blood dribbling down his chin. When he tries to continue, Gretel shushes him, wipes the blood from his mouth and draws him closer.

As Gretel strokes Hansel’s hair, hardly noticing it’s sticky with sweat and blood, she begins to hum a song their mother used to sing. She may have long since forgotten the words, but the melody is as clear in her mind as it was the day she last heard it, nearly 20 years ago. Almost immediately, Hansel relaxes; his once brilliant blue eyes flutter shut, and the lines and creases that mar his face like the scars on his back ease away. She feels the tears welling up in her eyes—he looks so young and vulnerable, lying there in her arms and the dust, and she realizes she should have always been the one protecting him—but she doesn’t let any fall. She only continues to hum, begging any higher power who may be listening to let him find peace wherever he goes next, to recognize he doesn’t just deserve it; he’s earned it.

She’s so lost in her frantic prayers, in the soft, lilting song she’s humming, in the gentle rhythm of her fingers running through his hair, she doesn’t realize her hands are glowing. By the time she’s noticed, it’s too late to call back the magic that’s pulsing through her, just as it was when she unleashed the spell that snapped the sheriff’s son’s neck in Trier. She can only watch in mute horror as the light envelopes her brother. “No, no, no,” she whispers, clutching him even tighter even though she’s source of the light. “Damn it, no!”

The light burns brighter and brighter until, finally, she can’t see anything. And then, in a flash she can physically feel, it’s gone. When she finally manages to blink away her tears and the dark spots dancing on the corners of her vision, she realizes Hansel is looking up at her, his eyes wide with awe, and a little bit of fear.

“Gretel?” he asks, his voice thick but not slurred anymore. “Gretel…what did you do?”

Gretel doesn’t answer because she doesn’t honestly know. Instead, she hesitantly reaches down, not yet willing to believe what she already knows to be true. Sure enough, his wound has closed; the only trace of it is a thin, faint scar, the only reminder he all but died in her arms the blood staining his clothes and the ground. “Hansel,” she breathes, and she can’t hold back her tears anymore.

“Hey,” he whispers, pushing himself into a sitting position without any help and drawing her into a tight, almost fierce hug. She buries her face against his shoulder, as she’s done so many times before, and she doesn’t curse herself for her weakness when she realizes he’s crying too. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m alright. I’m alright…Hey, say, do ya think we could open a tavern or somethin’ now?”

Gretel can’t help but laugh. And, suddenly, it’s almost like it was before—before Trier, before Berlin, before even Augsburg, where they learned what she really was. “I don’t know, baby brother. I don’t think I have enough patience for drunks, and I don’t think we’re allowed to burn ‘em if they give us trouble.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” Hansel says, a warm smile spreading across his still careworn face. With effort, he gets to his feet and brushes the dust from his jacket, though it does little good. Gretel pretends not to notice he’s still limping when he walks over to where Fern is sitting on the ground, even when he lifts her onto his still shrunken shoulders and tells her she’ll be home soon.

As they slowly make their way back to town, Gretel watches the sun rise in the sky. And, in that moment, she realizes tomorrow won’t be just another day. It’ll be a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end of this story. Were you surprised? When I originally started writing it, it was supposed to be three parts and end with Hansel dying from not having enough medicine. So...yeah...it changed pretty dramatically.
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I LOVED writing Hansel and Gretel. Yes, I'm well aware that Witch Hunters isn't exactly the deepest movie, but there's so much going on it's not hard to imagine them in this situation one day down the line.
> 
> So, if you liked it, let me know! I love hearing what people think. I don't finish many stories that are longer than one shots (as you may have noticed) to this is a big deal for me. And I'd love to know if you liked the finished product. Until next time (whenever that may be). ~Moore12


End file.
